


He's Smitten

by useeername



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, i dont know how to tag lollll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useeername/pseuds/useeername
Summary: Uh I suck at summaries but its fulkrok ok.





	1. Chapter 1

The now, fixed TV, was blaring its usual shows. A murmur, from whatever was speaking, easily passed through the hefty walls. Fulcrum however, paid no mind to it, as he was too deep in thought. With a pen in hand, he wrote about the days events. Today went as decently as it could have, it could've been /so/ much worse, in many, many aspects. I mean hey, he could've been rejected today but wasn't, why? Oh, cause he didn't fucking say anything! Even if he was so bent on doing so.

He had become very... infatuated with the war specialist, krok. Sure he's fallen for other bots before, but never this hard. Every time Krok grew near, every hand hold, every spark-to-spark chat, he's fallen deeper in love with him. He couldn't ever tell krok, neither misfire or grimlock. Spinister has no concept of anything but colors, so that was a no go as well. He pushed himself to the back of the chair and let out a small, frustrated sigh while rubbing his optics. When he opened them, he saw his worst nightmare, figuratively speaking, he was met with death himself.

Misfire was by the side of the desk, holding his note book, and eyeing the most recent page. With an angry, startled cry, closely mimicing the scream of a dying bird. Fulcrum launched out of his chair and after some failed attempts, swiped the book out of Misfire's hand. Despite the fact that he'd won his book back, Misfire just stared at him with the biggest, shittiest grin. "So....Krok, huh?" With a cross of his arms, Fulcrum breathes in.

"Not. A. Word. You hear me?!" Like hell he'll let misfire expose him this way! If he says even *one* thing, it'll spread like wildfire. He'd probably run away, /again!/ "I swear to primus, you utter a word to *anyone* and I'll dismember you and everything you love!" An empty threat, he'll admit, but he didn't dare risk it.

"Fulcrum! Chill!" Misfire raises his hands up defensively, he knows fulcrum wouldn't do it, but man it was getting kinda tense in there. Not something misfire's a fan of. "I ain't gonna tell nobody," he says, before tapping his pointer finger on the aforementioned book, "as long as I get to read this- all of it!"

"Ah hell no!" Fulcrum swats Misfire's finger away while staring coldly at him. "I'd rather clean Grimlock's room for 4 years than let you read this."

"Fine!"

"Fine, /what?/"

"You gotta clean Grim's room for the next two months, every time it get's messy." I mean, he did say he'd rather do that. It was better than anything else he could think of anyways.

"Fine." 

"Fine, /what?/"

"Fine, I'll clean it!! Damn you're so dense!" 

"At least I'm not crushing o- OH OK I SEE HOW IT IS! HERE! I'VE GOT TWO OF THOSE!"

\----------------------------------------------

It's been months since Misfire found out about Fulcrum's crush on their supposed "leader". They've talked about it once or twice as time have passed, and it seems like it'll never go away. Since now, Fulcrum is 100% undoubtedly in love with Krok, Misfire is DYING to see them together. Though, he'd never break a promise, not intentionally at least...

The whole crew, minus crankcase (probably flirting with his online boyfriend), is, 'chilling' as misfire likes to call it, in the TV room. Krok is slouched over, watching the show from the far right of the couch. Spinister's there too, sorta watching but really, only paying attention to the colors of his hands. Misfire's bent down, and has been looking in the fridge for primus-knows how long, trying to decide on what to drink. Fulcrum is leaning against a ledge not too far away from the couch & door, fiddling with a little gadget.

"Look in the fridge any longer, and you might just freeze us to death." Fulcrum nags, misfire begrudgingly grabs a drink and closes the door. 

"Man sometimes I wish I'd let you blow up." He jokes, while getting up and leaning on the same ledge as his decommissioned friend, before turning his attention to the show.

The con talking on the TV is telling an over dramatized version of an unrequited love story, or at least that's what it sounds like. "Yeah, so I told him, 'You either help me clean up this mess, or I'll tell Thundercracker you have a /massive/ crush on him!' and of course he freaked out--"

"HAHah! Man sounds just like you!" Misfire pats, or more like hits, Fulcrum's shoulder causing him to drop his trinket.

"How's that?" Krok asks, turning to face the two.

Misfire chuckles again and, clearly not thinking before speaking, he says "He didn't want me to tell you he has a fat ass crush on you, so i-" And the very second those words left his mouth, he freezes and slaps a hand over it, before mumbling a curse. Fulcrum stops mid-drop, since misfire so /rudely/ interrupted the retrieval of his toy BY SPILLING HIS DAMN TEA!! If Krok had a mouth, it'd probably be hanging low right now. Despite the fact that the tv was 80% volume, there was a heavy awkward silence, and a quiet clicking noise. It wasn't from Krok's nervous habit though, no, it was from Fulcrum's joints and plating adjusting to the new temperature change. It wasn't hot in there either, he was just overheating from pure, unfiltered embarrassment and shame. He stares holes into the floor for what he felt was an ungodly long time. The silence became suffocating, so he quickly jumps into standing position.

"I'm gonna- I'm gonna go." Fulcrum announces feverishly, before leaving a slightly dissapointed misfire, and a dazzled krok. Who's spark was set ablaze by the news. 

\---------------------------------------

Fulcrum sits on the back edge of the W.A.P., it isn't an unfamiliar place for him. Looking down at the land beneath his pedes, he swings them slowly. Man, isn't he screwed. I mean, cmon?? Really? A coward K-class bomb with a war strategist?? That'd never happen, even if it's what his heart yearned for it. The touch, the hand holds, his friends love. That'll never happen, not again at least, especially since it was painfully obvious Krok didn't reciprocate. He bows his head in defeat, putting the palm of his hands against his face.

The door behind him swooshed open, scaring him just a little. But only a little, "Give me it straight, Misfire, should I be planning my funeral?"

"No." More quiet clicks of armor sound, again, fulcrum is heating up. That is most definitely /not/ misfire's voice.

"Ooh man- didn't think you'd ah. Damn." Fulcrum rubs the back of his neck, swallowing some intake, preparing himself for some type of rejection. Why /him/ of all people? He'd much rather Megatron himself confront him! Not him! Not krok! primus save him. He anticipated rejection, to be told, 'I'm sorry, I don't like you.' anything along the lines of, "no, fulcrum." But it didn't come.

"Is it true?" Krok asks, still a little ways away.

Fulcrum didn't move anything but his head, in a small, barely noticeable nod.


	2. cont

After another moment of silence, he makes his way to fc, and sits down next to him. Krok was rather quiet, but Fulcrum guessed it was better than outright rejection. The warm pulses of an EM field could be felt from Krok, it was obvious he was trying to reach out to him. Albiet hesitant, he widens his range as well, again, only expecting pity & rejection. When Krok's EM began intermingling with his own, it was comforting. Loving. Gentle. Warm. All things Fulcrum didn't expect to feel, but Primus it was welcomed.

Fulcrum finally looked up at krok, who was staring at the scenery. He followed his gaze, and searched for whatever is capturing his attention. While searching, the sudden feeling of a hand, took presence ontop of his own. It was large, but despite that, so gentle. After sometime, they intertwined their fingers, and sat together just like that.

Fulcrum, becoming ballsy now, looked up at Krok again, to find him gazing at him lovingly. A goofy, embarrassed grin graced Fulcrum's lips, "Stop giving me that look." He mumbles bashfully. 

"Nope." Krok replies, his eyes squint happily, amused by his handsome... lover? Lover has a nice ring to it, he thinks.

They sit for moment's longer, before Krok stands up with an outstretched hand. "C'mon, we've got a lot to talk about, don't we?" He says, grabbing onto fc's hand, pulling him up.


End file.
